She sits by the window
watching the world go by
as window children
with protective parents
sit and watch
other kids go out and play.

Falling rain
she will never feel
touch her face.
Flowers she can
no longer pick
and place in the
empty blue cobalt vase.

The clock ticks announcing
the prodigality of time.
Her diseased body
has betrayed her.
She mourns
the miscarriage of her future.

Somedays, she holds her
broken heart in her lap
and slowly rocks.
Other days,
she doesn't dare
look at the pane.